A Little Inspiration
by LePhantomessa
Summary: When Fred visits a strip club, he doesn't expect to find something that would change his life and views on love; especially with a male stripper. But when secrets are revealed, everything changes. Slash, no ocs. Ch 2: Fred meets in private with the Muse.
1. Intro

Greetings. I am La Phantomessa. Flame and be punjabbed.

The purpose of this story is for me to practice writing slash. If I am ever to write successful slash in my preferred genre, I need to practice. So why not with an old childhood favorite? As well, it will severely annoy my little sister, who absolutely loathes this pairing. I say, to each their own. This will obviously contain slash, partially graphic, and naughtiness. You have been sufficiently warned; otherwise, feel free to perish by the wrath of your own thick-headed stupidity for not heeding my warning.

I own neither SD nor Muse (the band). Just this mildly twisted idea. Enjoy

oneshot story1

_Holy. Effing. Crap_.

Those were the only words that seemed to occupy Fred Jones' mind as he watched a rather busty and flexible girl wrap herself around the pole before him, quickly taking his mind off of his current problems; the very ones that had led him to wander the darker side of town, before stumbling onto the classy little strip joint known only as the Slick Stick, and ordering a drink as he mindlessly watched various girls (and guys - the strip club offered goods to both sides of the sexual street) swing off of various poles.

But those problems rose up again in his mind as he saw the color of her hair, a vicious, fake-looking red. Probably a dye job, he mused, as he stared into the beer bottle hanging loosely in his hands. Ironically enough, that was what had caused his little spat with his would-be-but-really-wasn't-his-girlfriend, Daphne Blake. He'd found a bottle of highlight enhancing shampoo in the van when he was cleaning it out, and immediately thought that it was hers. As soon as he'd suggested it, however, the redhead's eyes had gone as fiery as her hair, and a screaming match had ensued. Velma had taken Scooby out for a walk once she'd come up from her lab and found him quivering by the couch, shaking like a leaf. It wasn't long after that he'd stormed out himself, angry that Daphne was so angry over something so small. And Shaggy...

Shaggy always seemed to disappear at night when they came back to headquarters from another grueling string of mysteries. No one knew where he went, not even Scooby - and if he did know, then he was keeping pretty damn quiet about the whole thing. The girls suspected that he had a girlfriend somewhere, or that maybe he went off to smoke pot, but Fred had rejected those ideas immediately. Being that they were a company, albeit a small one, the whole gang was subjected to monthly drug tests, and the beatnik always came up clean. And whenever he got a girlfriend (or even started dating someone for that matter), the entire world could tell - he'd get this big goofy smile on his face and a dreamy, faraway look in his beautiful brown eyes.

_Wait. Scratch that last part_, Fred thought. He didn't like to think that he might be attracted to the stupid hippie in any way shape or form. Besides, the blond man thought, taking a long and bitter swig from the bottle before him, he wasn't gay, and Shaggy was _certainly_ **not** good-looking. Sure, he had a mild appeal, but that was as far as it went. The hippie was stick thin and tall, and with a strange face to boot. He honestly didn't see what any girl would see in him that would lead to him ever being considered as datable. Or so Fred told himself.

He motioned to the bartender for another drink, barely catching it as it swooped down the sticky bar towards him. He spun around on his seat, loosened his ascot, and leaned back, sighing and wishing that life could just be clear-cut for once. Or at least in a way that made him happier then he was now, with a chick that he was probably destined to eventually get married to and have kids with, despite how he felt about it and her. Daphne was hot, sure, but he just didn't click with her like he really wanted them to. Hence the whole craziness ensuing, girl throwing him out of the house/headquarters, and his wandering the sleazier parts of town.

A voice crackling to life on the speaker next to him made Fred jump slightly on his stool, as it praised the previous bendy fake-o redhead for her lovely performance onstage. Fred was about to settle down and ignore whomever was coming next, when the loudspeaker announcer spoke again.

_"And now, ladies and gentleman, it's time for our special performance to commence! And you all know what that means." _Several people, both men and women Fred was surprised to see, looked up in anticipation towards the stage, guiding his eyes towards it as well. _"Dancing tonight to a sexy little number called 'Uprising' that'll get your libidos rising upwards in no time, please welcome back our star boy to the stage - _**_the ever-lustful Muse!_**_"_

And just as the blond man wrapped his mind around the fact that the next performer - whom everyone there seemed to be so excited over, men included - was, in fact, a _male_ dancer, the lights darkened in the already dark and seedy room, and a heavy drumbeat came spilling out from the speakers, alongside a wiry sounding guitar. Multicolored lights flashed haphazardly over the room, and the crowd (had it been a crowd before?) gathered closer to the platform on which the pole was secured, catcalls and whistles flying wildly through the air.

It was then that Muse appeared.

HE was a long, lithe body secured in tight black pants, barefoot on the cold metal floor, with twisting, shimmering swirls painted over his lily-white skin. He had long, luxurious chestnut hair, which sparkled gold and ruby in the varying lights, and hung heavily on his almost feminine shoulders, framing a long and seemingly untouched neck. His face, from a distance, wasn't easily discernible in the dimly-lit area, but a lot of it was shadowed by a thick, large pair of black sunglasses. Slender hips swayed seductively as he approached his pole, and long, delicate fingers wrapped themselves around it, slowly sliding up and down the male euphemism before him.

Fred's eyes had popped out of his head, and his drink slipped to the carpeted floor with a heavy clunk._ Fuck._

HE was the most fucking gorgeous person he'd ever seen.

_The paranoia is in bloom, the PR__ Transmissions will resume, they'll try to_

_Push drugs, keep us all dumb down and hope that__  
_

_We will never see the truth around,_

_So come on_

The Muse allowed one slender hand to drop to his side, while the other caressed the hard pole, as he swung around, slowly, almost as if he were modeling his body for the consumers of the establishment. His free hand gently tugged the edge of his pants down to reveal a delicate, soft blue flower tattooed on the inner curve of his right hip, drifting dangerously close to an area that was far too seductive for his own good. His body undulated, and his hips swiveled expertly around the slick metal pillar, sending shocks of electricity into the body of a certain ascot-wearing fellow, who could only watch, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, as this beautiful creature arched back into the pole, and slid his hands down his body, splaying his legs out almost shamelessly with a strange air of innocence and guile about him.

A slick, pink tongue darted out between even pinker lips, and with one arm slipping around the pole, he dipped himself gracefully, allowing his head to slip back with a look of ecstasy painted over him, like smeared make-up in the aftermaths of intense orgasm. He swung back around until he was standing, and casually threw a leg up, knee bent; almost as if a lover had pulled it up against their body and had it wrapped around their waist. He then began to slowly, almost painfully, grind against the metal, lips parted, head rolling, while everyone cheered him on, throwing money onto the stage practically in piles.

_Interchanging mind control, come let the__ Revolution take its toll, _

_if you could_

_Flick a switch and open your third eye, you'd see that_

_We should never be afraid to die, _

_So come on_

Fred, meanwhile, was trying in vain to shake off his influence. _For God's sake, what on earth was he _thinking_?_ This was a **male** stripper, for crying out loud! He was only supposed to be attracted to female strippers, if any stripper at all! What the hell was going on?

And yet... Fred felt a sharp jolt of arousal sweep over him as the man onstage suddenly thrust against the pole, and slowly began to undulate against it, while one long, slender hand went down to touch himself, rubbing up and down against bulging black material. He seemed to have a hypnotic effect on the people around him, the blond man thought, as he saw other people - primarily men - reach down to fondle themselves as they watched him with hungry gazes, like hunters over their prey.

So it wasn't much of a surprise when Fred also let a hand drift downwards over his straining arousal, trapped in blue jeans. It was only because so many other people, including men who'd thrown money at the women who'd been onstage, were doing it as well, he told himself, watching the pale, lithe figure wrap himself around the cold metal pole in a variety of intriguing positions.

Or so, at least, he tried to convince himself. Unfortunately, he failed miserably. And yet, as the Muse gripped the pole and twirled himself upside down, he found that he didn't mind it so much as he'd first thought that he would.

_Rise up and take the power back, it's time that_

_The fat cats had a heart attack, you know that_

_Their time is coming to an end, we have to__ unify and watch our flag ascend, _

_So come on_

It was at this point in the show that people started to wave money in the air, as they eventually coerced the Muse to slide off of the stage, hips swaying, and body gleaming with sweat. Several people reached out, fingertips grazing his silky skin as he passed by. One woman pulled him onto her lap, and he leaned over her possessively, slinking up against her before moving away, money tightly stuffed into the edges of the waistband of those accursed tight black pants. Another man - a large, gruff, trucker type of guy - grabbed his hips and ran filthy fingers up his chest before the Muse swirled away, dancing away from the perverted man's obvious bulge and enraged expression.

As the stripper made his way around the room, Fred couldn't help but feel intensely jealous as everyone else around him seemed to grab and slap and pull at _his_ - the - young man. He couldn't help it; he wanted desperately to touch his skin, to weave his fingers through his hair, to smell him even.

**_If only to prove that he wasn't attracted to men!_** his super-ego screamed at him; and yet, as the Muse made his way nearer to the bar, Fred found that he didn't altogether mind being attracted to this particular young man. He was beautiful, he was delicious, he was wanton, he was innocent -

- _and he was heading right towards him._

_They will not force us_

_They will stop degrading us_

_They will not control us_

_We will be victorious,_

_So come on_

The blonde could only stare blankly as the Muse slunk towards him, hips swaying in a manner that would put any high-class whore to shame, and as the male stripper slid onto his lap. All thought left the ascot-wearing man as the taller, thinner young man straddled his hips and started to 'ride' him, body undulating as the entire bar whooped and cheered and whistled. Fred was surprised to find that the young man was extremely aroused, and that his rubbing those slender hips over his crotch would probably be the death of him in just a few short minutes.

And he was almost right. For, as the Muse began to slide off of the blond man's lap (making him moan at the loss of those wonderful sensations), he suddenly reared back up, grasping Fred's member tightly through his jeans with his slender hands, and arched his entire body up against him, before proceeding to run that delicious pink tongue from even pinker lips up the underside of Fred's jaw, and all the way to down below his left ear, creating the final straw that broke the proverbial camel's back.

Fred cried out as he released, thrusting his hips upwards into that pale, lithe hand, and shuddering through the remainder of it when that warm, slender body slid off of his lap for good. He blew the exhausted, over-stimulated man a kiss, before flipping backwards towards the stage, and wrapping his body around the pole once more, his movements now more daring, and a grin cheekily emerging on his face as he swirled ever faster around the cold metal pole.

But only two things caught Fred Jones' eye, as he recovered from his mind-blowing orgasm. One was that the Muse was looking towards his direction, and that when he did, he threw even more of himself into his performance; if that was even possible.

The second was that the Muse's cheeky little smile was almost painfully familiar to him. And while normally Fred would immediately begin searching through his head for any memories that could possibly be related to the young man who was currently swiveling his hips against a hard metal pole, he couldn't concentrate. Not after what the Muse had just done to him. With him. For him.

So all he could do was sit on the bar-stool, and watch the remainder of the performance, squirming in his seat as the stickiness in his jeans started to dry, knowing that a little visit was going to be paid to a certain someone right after this little performance.

And knowing full well that nothing Fred could say or do to himself would stop him.

_They will not force us_

_They will stop degrading us_

_They will not control us_

_We will be victorious, _

**_So come on!_**

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.**

Wow... and here I thought that this would end up as a oneshot pretty damn quick. Ah well, such is life. Please review, if you would. See you next chapter. The Muse and Fred certainly will. *wink***  
**


	2. Expo

As usual, I own nothing SD related. If I did, many little children would be scarred for life.

WARNING: much more graphic slash in this here chappie. Turn back now, all ye who fear the sexy.

story two shot2

As soon as the Muse departed from the stage, his managers sweeping up the money that had been hurled at him in wild abandon, Fred moved quickly to follow him down a hallway he'd seen one of the waitresses retreat to earlier, a strange, powerful fire burning deep in his body. His mind tortured him as he turned down a dark corridor, imagining that sleek, pale body writhing beneath him, sweaty and slick with other fluids, begging for release, lips crushed together in a vicious, passionate battle of lips, tongues, and teeth, a fire exploding between the two that would burn the whole building down in mere seconds.

The blond man growled as his member hardened, preparing itself for a fantasy which may never come to pass, and he shook his head. What he was doing was downright crazy, and more then just a touch creepy. He was reminded of several past mysteries in which the masked villain had tried to win over the heart of a girl he'd obsessed over by stealing things to impress her. He then wondered if he should get a mask himself. An image of him wearing a clown mask with a bouquet of roses in hand for a date came to mind, and he chuckled. Luckily, the image was enough to bring him down some, just as he arrived at the door to the dressing rooms.

It was here that Fred came to his senses, somewhat. Just what had he been hoping to accomplish here? Had he really thought that he could come to the back of a strip club to seduce someone? A _**male**_ someone at that? He didn't even know how to initiate things. "Hi there, I'm Fred Jones. You may not remember me, but I was the one you straddled and licked on the bar stool? Anyway, I saw you emulating an orgasm on stage and thought that we could fuck like rabbits back here for a while. But do be patient with me, I've never had sex with a man before. How about dinner and a movie first, and then we'll see how it goes?" Psh. Yeah. As if THAT would ever work. Especially for him, the All-American Kid.

Fred pulled out his wallet and removed a few twenties. As he toyed with the idea of 'returning' some of the money that had been thrown onstage for the Muse and that had been missed by the managers of the club, the door swung wide open, catching him by complete surprise.

A scantily clad woman in red leather lingerie and frizzy black hair stood in the doorway, a mildly annoyed look smeared across her face alongside the shockingly red lipstick that she wore. She glared at Fred, who watched her fearfully, and lifted a cigarette to her lips. "Whaddya want, sport?"

"I..." Fred gaped at her for a few moments, unsure of what to say or do in this situation. "I, uh, was, um, wondering if, uh, if I... um..."

"If you 'um' what, kiddo?" She narrowed her eyes at him, before dropping the cigarette to the floor, crushing it beneath sharp black stilettos and crossing her arms across her more-than-plentiful chest. "This isn't a whorehouse where you can throw a few bills and have women do whatever you want, pal. So shove out or I'll have you thrown out."

"NO! Nonononono, I-I didn't come here to do that sort of - that," he exclaimed nervously. "I - I just wanted to, to um, see if I could get a personal lap dance from, uh, the-the Muse?" His voice shook as he rushed out his little request, which seemed pretty foolish after he'd said it. The guy probably only did one show a week or something, so as to get more money. Lower supply meant a higher demand, after all.

But it seemed that his stammered words were well worth the embarrassment, because the woman suddenly arched an eyebrow, lips pursed coyly. "Oh, is that so?" she purred, as she pulled out a pack of Camels and a lighter from her rather large brazier. "Well then, that's a different story. Luckily for you, you're the first in line tonight. He only does one personal dance every few weeks. I'm surprised that you made it back here that fast. Especially considering the fellas who usually come around. Come on in, dear."

Fred looked up at her nervously, before stepping into the smoky hallway, watching as she kicked the door shut behind her. "His room is the last door on the right. Have fun, sweetheart. But-" she suddenly yanked him down to her face, blowing smoke in enormous clouds, "-not TOO much fun. After all, we don't want the police showing up around here for behavior we don't condone." And with that, she shoved him away, and strode into the private 'meeting' room on the left, where several men waited for her with hungry gazes.

He shook his head, and pushed past the lingering cloud of death the stripper had left behind her, moving quickly, so as not to warrant recognition. Mystery Inc was pretty well known across town, and if word got out that he was secretly seeing a stripper, and a male one, no less - then life would become so much harder for him then it already was.

The blond man finally made his way back to the last door, a simple piece, with a small sign hanging crookedly on a nail, reading 'MUSE - UNOCCUPIED' on it in large, swirling letters. He raised his hand to the door, and hesitantly knocked on it before stepping back, and waiting nervously for a reply.

After what seemed like a lifetime, a crack appeared, and black plastic peered out. "Yes?"

"Um... Muse? I, uh, wanted to see if you would, uhm, give me the uh, the um, honor of, uh..." The door swung open sharply, to reveal the sweaty, sleek body of the young dancer before him, glaring harshly down at the stumbling man with the ascot. _Damn, he's tall_, Fred thought, as he stared up at the Muse. He had to have been well over six feet.

The Muse, however, was waiting impatiently for an answer. "Would you stop hemming and hawing around and just get your ass in here before someone else does?" he growled, startling Fred from his wake. He scurried into the room, while the Muse looked down the hallway warily. He sighed in relief, turned the sign to 'SORRY FELLAS - OCCUPIED' and quickly locked the door, before turning to his guest.

"Sorry about that. Now, let's get this over with. Do you have any preferences?" At the blank look on Fred's face, he ran a hand through his hair frustratedly. "You know, like, uh, do you want me on the pole, on your lap, do you want me to slather myself with honey while crowing the national anthem, what?"

"You... you'll actually do that?"

"Do what?"

"The national anthem thing with honey." The stripper smirked, and turned to the small refrigerator that sat humming in the corner, before pulling out an American flag and two jars of honey. Fred gaped in shock as the other man snickered.

"Does that answer your question, good sir? Now, what do you want?" As Fred was about to stammer out a response, a loud pounding startled the two of them out of a possible awkward silence.

"MUSE! Get your cheap, skinny ass out here, I wanna feel you writhing up against me, you filthy bitch. I know that no one else could get back here as fast as I could, and I know that no one else would dare to lay their dirty little hands on my slender little piece of sugar candy. Now open the goddamn DOOR!" Every other word was punctuated with a brutal punch against the wood, and Fred could swear that he saw splinters popping out of the finely polished wood.

"Dammit Amos, I'm with another client, one who moves faster without a fat ass dragging them down," Muse spat back at the door. "Now leave me alone."

"NO! I know that no one's in there with you, you little fucker, now open the goddamn fucking door!"

As small pieces of framework began to crack in the frame, Fred turned to the slenderer man. "Is he a regular problem?"

The Muse looked up, as if he'd forgotten that the blonde was there. "Hm? Oh, him, um... kind of. He's a little bit, um, possessive, but he pays well, so like, what can I do? Sure, he's a bit grabby, and scares away most of my other customers, but he's never done anything illegal or anything to warrant the cops comin' down here. But it's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Fred echoed. "You call him attempting to break down the door because you're with someone else 'not that bad'?"

"Hey, there've been worse people then him to come past here."

"Well, someone should do something."

The Muse scoffed. "Like who? No one cares about a stripper. We make you feel good, but other then that, we're worthless and so must bow down to every whim but one, which I should think is rather obvious, seeing as we'd have to bend over for it to happen." At those words, Fred blushed lightly, and turned away.

"GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE NOW, BITCH!"

"DON'T MAKE ME HAVE YOU BANNED!"

"DON'T MAKE ME **MAKE** YOU HAVE ME BANNED, YOU FUCKING TEASE, NOW OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR BEFORE I BREAK IT DOWN!"

"Did you not hear me before? I said, FUCK OFF!" The Muse hit the door, and jumped back as it thudded back, a frightened look crossing his face, from what Fred could see of it. And it was then that a very stupid decision was made.

"Stop lying to me and maybe I'll consider it. Now OPEN THE FUCKIN' DO-" The door swung open, and a smaller, fitter man shoved the offending knocker against the wall, hands tightly gripping the greasy collar of the older man's shirt. Fred looked over the man, noticing quickly that he was the one who'd tried to grab the young man earlier when he'd descended from the stage and failed. He was a large fellow, wearing stained jeans and an oil-splattered plaid shirt. He was unshaven and balding, and looked to be in his late forties. A perfect match to the term 'pervert'.

And before Fred could stop himself, he was threatening the man with a coldness he'd never known he had. "Listen here, you little shit. This is MY little piece of sugar candy now, and I don't want you anywhere near him anymore. His ass is MINE, do you hear me? MINE!" He shoved the man against the wall again, banging his balding head harshly against the tacky wallpaper, before letting him sink to the cheap, carpeted floors. "You come anywhere near him, I will find the largest gun I can, and fire it up your pathetic little ass. Got it, you little pervert?" The man Amos shook at Fred's feet. "I said, **_got it_**?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever you say." The older man whimpered, as he quickly scooted away from the clearly stronger man. A sharp kick to his behind left a yowl of pain to echo down the hallway, and the door was closed roughly in the man's face, leaving some of the other strippers to peer quizzically at where the man who so readily defended a male dancer so strongly had just stood.

Fred dusted his hands off, and turned around, to find the Muse staring at him. Or at least he thought that he was staring at him; it was hard to tell with those large, clunky sunglasses still hiding most of his face. "What?"

"You done there, Captain America?" the Muse sneered, eyebrows furrowing in anger.

"Well, excuse me for defending your honor."

"**What** honor?"

"That's not the point," Fred huffed. "He was threatening to do something bad to you, and maybe even your life, so the least you can do is say thank you."

Silence descended between the two, a silent war for domination of who was right. Then: "Fine. Thanks. But you didn't have to do that, you know," he said finally, brushing past Fred to lock the door again, this time placing a chair up against the doorknob. "He's gonna come back when you're not here, and I won't have any reason to lock him out."

"What about being afraid for your life? That a good enough reason?" Fred sat down heavily on the plush couch that took up most of the space in the room, and watched the younger man's catlike grace as he paced back and forth.

"In this business, honey, that only counts when there are weapons involved. Amos is just a very confused married man who's going through a very rough separation with his wife. He's all talk. He likes to yell because it makes him feel big, which he hasn't felt in a long, long time. Like most of the men here. Many of them have control issues that they can't work out until they get here. It's like a type of therapy, only cheaper and more fun."

Fred scoffed. "That's some therapy."

"You're one to talk, big boy," Muse said snarkily, as he slid next to the blonde man on the couch. "I saw you nursing a few drinks before I went on. You got a few problems yourself you need working out, and the first place you come running is to a sleazy strip joint on the rougher side of town. Those most be some pretty important issues. Girlfriend throw you out?"

"No," Fred sighed, "my female friend got mad at me when I asked her whether or not she used a highlight-enhancing shampoo I found when I was cleaning out the van. It escalated into some pretty nasty stuff from there, and I just got tired of it and walked out."

The dancer shifted closer, placing long, pale hands onto the other man's shoulder and leg. "Hmm. That must've upset you when she got so mad over something so trivial."

"Yeah, it-it did." A thought struck Fred, as the stripper began to massage his thigh. "Wait - you were watching me? Before you came out?" Muse stilled momentarily, before continuing at a slower pace. "But-But why?"

"Why? Let me tell you something, honey." Fred's senses went into overload, as the slender young man casually straddled his lap, letting his arms rest on the blonde's broader shoulders. "A lot of people come here so that they can pay people to like them. And some of them come so that they can feel in control of something in their life. We rarely get anyone new here, especially good looking guys like you. Guys that look more than interested when your name is announced on the speakers." At that, the younger man smiled, making Fred's heart leap a little in excitement. "Now, why don't we get things started, hmm? Tell me what you want, detective, and I'll see what I can do to clue you in to your desires."

He grinned like a lion gazing down on his dinner, and Fred gulped, as his pulse began to pound everywhere furiously, overriding all chances of figuring out why that damn smile was so fucking familiar that it hurt. He managed to eek out a command to go back to the pole for a few minutes, and he relaxed briefly, as the warm, lithe body swayed its way to the pole that divided the room, anxiously awaiting the show that would soon follow.

A hand shot out and hit a nearby stereo, and a heavy, throbbing beat filled the room with an erotic tension that had the blonde shaking in seconds. Skin sparked against metal as the body wrapped itself around the pole, fingers splayed over tight black leather, tongue teasingly tasting pink lips. Finally, when it started to become too much for the young detective to handle, the stripper leapt lightly on his prey, slowly rocking his slender hips against the hard denim bulge he straddled so easily. Fred was surprised to note that the young man also had a pretty noticeable bulge at the actions he performed so effortlessly.

He managed to pant out, "Why are you so aroused with this?" as he gripped the Muse's hips, thumbs slipping beneath the tight, slick material to rub circles into his skin. "I thought that-that-that wasn't allow-OOOH!-wed." The younger man paused briefly, breathing heavily as thicker fingers found his sensitive nerves. He bit his lip, unable to hold back a moan at Fred's tantalizing ministrations, and gasped as the other hand wrapped itself around his leather arousal.

"Now, now now now now now now, st-st-stop that, th-that's my job," he laughed nervously, as his head rolled back unexpectedly, another moan rolling away from his lips. "Don-don-do-OH-n't make me ha-aa-ave to throw y-you out, sweetheart."He sucked in a breath and cried out softly, his hips stilling over the man beneath him momentarily, as those same fingers dug deeper into the leather surrounding his member. Fred grinned as he heard this; it was a strange sort of music to his ears, something that was far too addictive for its own good.

"Tell me th-then," Fred panted, as the younger man's head rolled in uncontrolled ecstasy, while his hips did likewise against Fred's jeans, "what s-sh-should I do-ooh?"

"Ju-uuuunh-st s-sit there and k-ke-EE-ep your friggin' hands to yoursssself," The Muse hissed through his teeth. He jolted unexpectedly, and in the span of only fourteen seconds, began to thrust his body in spasms against the detective before crying out an indistinguishable name. He slumped against the blonde, breathing heavily for a few moments, trying to regain his suddenly lost composure, as an awkward silence slunk between the two.

After a few moments, Fred spoke up. "Hey. Muse, are -are you alright?"

Another bout of quietude descended. Then: "Fuck."

"What?" Fred shifted beneath the young man, suddenly reminded of his own, straining arousal still rubbing against the rough denim of his blue jeans. "Wait a minute, what's wrong?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." The Muse swung off of Fred's lap, and strode on shaky legs to the other side of the room, running his hands through his hair. "That is NOT supposed to happen."

"Hey, look," the blond man rose from his spot, and walked over to the frustrated younger man, "that's a perfectly natural thing that happens sometimes. There's no need to get so upset over -" He didn't get to finish his sentence as the sweaty, slender body suddenly shoved him flush against the wall, staring at him eye-to-plastic.

"Look, buddy. I know how the birds and the fucking bees get along. The problem is that what just happened is not supposed to happen to me. EVER. Especially with a client. That's the rule. If you break it, you're fired."

"Well, that's a stupid rule," Fred shot out. "I saw how aroused you were onstage, how could that not happen eventually?"

"Arousal is one thing; it makes the audience excited, and more likely to pay through the wazoo for your attention. Full release? Another thing entirely."

"Why would customers complain? Personally I enjoyed it." At those words, the Muse stilled, his entire body tensing up as the words sunk in fully. He stepped away from Fred, and turned towards the couch, looking embarrassed.

"Customers have to be pleasured first. That's just the way it is. You're not here to pleasure yourself, you're here to pleasure others. If afterwords, you feel the need to jack off, that's more than fine. but your customer has to be satisfied."

"Well, has it ever happened before tonight?" Fred sat down tentatively next to the stripper on the sofa, and casually stretched an arm across his thin shoulders. He was pleased to find that the Muse, rather than turning away from him and shrugging off his arm, instead leaned into his side, nuzzling into the white t-shirt almost like a child would after having a bad day at school.

"No," he said. "That's the problem. It's never been a problem for me to keep it down; I just have to picture most of these men wearing tidy-whities and I'll have no trouble waving off any arousing thoughts." He grinned again as Fred choked and gagged when the thought took root in his brain. "Which begs the question: why are you different?"

"Because I'm... good looking?" Fred asked. A snort came from the lithe form buried against his side, and Fred thought he saw a real smile twitch at the corners of the young man's mouth.

"Unlikely, darling. Trust me, there have been better looking guys then you to walk in here, ones that'll actually _pay_ for their lap dances." Fred glared down at the snarky little stripper, annoyed to see him talking so coolly about other, more attractive customers.

"Is that all you're in it for, then? The money?" Muse looked up at him, and Fred expected to be slapped or clawed at for such a question; but instead the dancer smiled a sad, bitter little smile, and stared into space.

"While the money is nice to have, sweetheart, it isn't the reason I do this."

"Then what is?"

"Attention." Fred moved to speak, and quick long fingers moved to intercept his thoughts. "But not how you're thinking. In every day life, no one looks at me like I'm all that special. Like I'm attractive, or sexy, or... well, anything, really. I'm just sort of... **_there_**, you know? People notice me, but not for long. They look me over once or twice, look at me one more time if I'm lucky, and come to their own conclusions. Hell, not even one of my friends or family members knows that I'm gay. Why? Because they look at me and don't see someone who likes other men. They just see like they want to see. Which isn't really much of anything, to tell the truth.

"But that's beside the point. The point is that when I'm here, I'm everything I want to be: beautiful, confident, sexy, mysterious. And just plain... noticed. Here, I'm actually what people see when the look at me: a good-lookin' stripper with a nice smile and even nicer legs. After all, isn't that what everyone wants? To feel attractive, and important, and _wanted_?"

The Muse stopped suddenly, as he realized what had been said. "I shouldn't be talking about this." He swung his body up in a graceful arc, and stood in front of Fred, with his hands on his hips. "Hell, I shouldn't even be talking. You're back here for a reason, so we might as well take care of it now. Where do you want me?"

Fred gave him a long look, eyes searching for something in the blank plastic gaps of this strange, stubborn, unfortunate man, before speaking up. "I want you right back here, where you were when you were talking just now."

"Um... why?"

"Because," the blond said, as he wrapped his hands around the thinner man's waist, "I wanna talk some more. Now sit that ass down and talk." An eyebrow popped up from behind the thick black walls, but the Muse said nothing for a change, and let himself be led back to the couch.

As the two got situated again, the lily-pale man looked up at him. "So, to sum it up... I'm not getting paid, and I'm talking to some weird guy who would rather listen to some random stranger who danced on his lap then get it on?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"...my life is like, really fucked up." Fred laughed, and for the first time that night, he saw a genuine little smile twitch at the corners of those beautiful soft lips.

Maybe the day would end well after all.

* * *

...yeah, I'm not too happy with how this turned out. I'll probably go back and edit it later on, but for now, I shall satisfy my apparently large numbers of readers. Seriously, twelve reviews? That's amazing.

And I have decided that this story will be 5 chapters long. Intro, Expo, S'All Good, Crumble, and Awkward Finish. Sorry to keep you guys waiting; I'll try to upload more quicker this time, but college is deciding to be bitchy to me, so it could be a bit. In the meantime, thank you all again so much for all the lovely reviews, and hopefully I'll see you soon.

So long!  
~LePh~


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